My mother had always impressed on me that attending wakes and memorial services brought comfort to the living. It was the right thing to do.
I stormed out of the bathroom and slammed the door. Real mature of me, right?
I sat down at the kitchen table and looked out at my now beautiful yard. The yard that Will Finnegan had saved. No, not just saved. Improved. Made better than it ever was.
In fact, Will had made my yard so gorgeous that, if the producers of HGTV’s Curb Appeal saw it, they’d be hammering on my front door right now, begging me to let them film a segment here.
“Maybe Jim can satisfy his conscience by making a donation in Will’s memory,” I muttered. “But I can’t. I’m going to the wake and pay our respects to his family. No matter what Jim says.”
And I knew who’d go with me.
Phyllis and Bill Stevens.
Chapter 12
I decided to do nothing today. So far, I’m right on schedule.
This time, I didn’t bother to make myself presentable. Either Phyllis and Bill took me in my natural state, sans makeup, or not.
For those of you who know me well, I’m sure this comes as a surprise. It seems that, the older I get, the vainer I get. Or maybe, as I age, more veins show on my body. My legs, hands, wherever.
You get the idea.
At least I’d brushed my teeth.
Then, I caught a glimpse of myself in the front hallway mirror. Yuck. I grabbed a baseball cap from the hall closet and smooshed it over my hair to hide my bedhead.
Note to self: make appointment with my super hairstylist, Deanna, asap.
I scurried across Old Fairport Turnpike, once again checking carefully for oncoming traffic. It would never do for me to be hit by a car when I wasn’t looking my best. I do have a reputation in this town for always being well groomed.
When I arrived at the Phyllis and Bill’s front stoop, it dawned on me that this visit was a very bad idea. After all, what was I going to say? I’m sorry for your loss? I’m sorry for our loss? Any suggestions for another landscaping company?
Nah, definitely scratch the last one.
I needn’t have worried about how to begin the conversation. Phyllis must have seen me crossing the street. She flung the front door open and threw her arms around my neck.
“Oh, Carol,” she sobbed. “This is so awful. I can’t believe Will is dead.”
Gently, I extricated myself from Phyllis’s embrace. And took a really close look at her.
I thought I looked bad. Truth to tell, Phyllis looked even worse. Her eyes were red-rimmed, evidence that she’d been crying for a long time. Her clothes were wrinkled, and her white hair, always tight against her scalp with the assistance of gobs of hair spray, rose around her head in peaks.
It reminded me of the meringue on top of a lemon pie.
“Who is it, Phyllis?” Bill asked from the direction of the kitchen. “Whoever it is, send them away. I don’t want to see anyone.”
“It’s Carol Andrews,” I called out. “I just read about Will Finnegan’s death in this morning’s paper.” My voice cracked when I said the word death.
A slightly calmer Phyllis led me down the hallway toward the family room. I couldn’t help but notice the hallway was littered with suitcases.
Phyllis gestured me to take a seat.
Now, under normal circumstances—which I hope will occur in my life one of these days—I would have asked, “What’s up with the suitcases, Phyllis? Are you and Bill going on a trip?”
Definitely not appropriate right now.
So, instead I said, “I wanted to see how you and Bill are doing. I know how close you and Will were.”
Big mistake. This produced a fresh round of tears from Phyllis. I felt terrible. Just when the poor woman had herself until control, I had to set her off again.
Bill appeared in the doorway with three coffee cups arranged neatly on a tray, along with some muffins. He had an apron tied around his middle.
He placed the tray on the table in front of me and sat down beside his now sniffling wife. “There, there, Phyllis,” Bill said, patting her shoulder awkwardly. “It’ll be all right. Will’s at peace.”
“How do you know he’s at peace?” Phyllis demanded. “You must have some inside information that Carol and I don’t. And it’s the absolute worst time for this to happen.”
It certainly was for Will. I didn’t really say that, of course.
Bill nudged the plate of muffins in my direction. “Help yourself, Carol. I apologize if they’re not the freshest you’ve ever had. We’re cleaning out the pantry and the refrigerator today.”
“I was planning on letting you know later this morning,” Phyllis explained. “But when I saw the obituary page….” Her voice trailed off.
Bill took up where Phyllis left off. And it was testament to how upset Phyllis was that she let him.
“We’re taking a cruise to celebrate our fiftieth wedding anniversary,” he said. “We leave tomorrow morning from New York. But we’re going into the city this afternoon and staying overnight at a hotel, so we won’t have to rush in the morning. It’s a trip we’ve been planning for a long time.”
“And Will was going to take care of our house while we were gone,” Phyllis said. “He was supposed to come over this morning to pick up the key. And now, well, I don’t know how we can even go. Or if we should.”
“Now, Phyllis,” Bill said again. “Of course we’re going. Will would want that.”
His eyes misted up. “I’m really going to miss that boy.”
Sometimes my mouth has a life of its own. And this was one of them.
I heard myself saying, “Jim and I would be glad to take care of the house while you’re away. You shouldn’t miss this trip. It sounds like the vacation of a lifetime. And celebrating fifty years of marriage is a wonderful thing.”
“We couldn’t ask you to do that,” Bill protested. “It’s too much.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “That’s what neighbors do. Help each other out.”
“If we leave on our cruise, we won’t be able to attend Will’s service,” Phyllis said. “I’d never forgive myself if we weren’t there.”
“I had already planned to go,” I said. “I’ll be glad to pay respects on your behalf, too. In fact, if you’d like to write a sympathy note and drop it off at our house before you leave, I’ll be sure that the Finnegan family gets it.”
“That’s a perfect solution,” Bill said. “We’ll write the sympathy note right now and give it to you, if you don’t mind staying a few more minutes.”
I nodded. “I’ll be glad to wait, Bill. Take your time.”
Phyllis brightened up for the first time. “Oh, Carol, would you really take care of our house? You’re sure Jim won’t mind?”
“Of course Jim won’t mind,” I said.
He may divorce me, but he certainly won’t mind.
I didn’t really say that last part. Of course.
Chapter 13
The secret to a long marriage is knowing when to keep your mouth shut.
“Thanks for coming with me tonight, honey,” I said to Jenny. “I can always count on you.”
My stubborn husband had flatly refused to attend Will Finnegan’s wake at Mallory and Mallory Funeral Home, even though I insisted that we would also be representing the absent Phyllis and Bill Stevens.
“No way, Carol,” Jim had said at the end of our umpteenth “discussion.” His voice was getting dangerously high, a sure sign that he was upset. He dangled the key to the Stevens house in front of me. “While you’re paying your respects to the deceased, I’ll do a good deed for the living. Which was all your idea, in case you’ve forgotten.”
I sighed at the memory. I really do hate arguing with my husband. Especially if a small part of me thought he could be right.
But I can be stubborn, too. And, besides, I’d promised Phyllis and Bill.
I sighed. “I hate wakes. And I especially hate wakes for someone who died so young.”
“You just missed a parking spot, Mom,” Jenny said. We were cruising around the funeral home parking lot, looking for a place to park my car where I could drive straight out, and not have to back up. Or, worse, parallel park.
I drove around the lot one more time, then eased my way into a parking spot near the exit. Perfect position for a quick get-away.
“Nobody likes wakes, Mom,” my daughter pointed out. “It’s more for the living than for the deceased, anyway.
“And you’re welcome for my coming with you. Mark is working again tonight, so I would’ve been alone, anyway. Although that’s probably preferable to being here.
“And, by the way,” she said, her blue eyes (so like mine!) locked on me, “I think Dad is absolutely right. You didn’t have to attend this. You won’t know anyone.”
“Well, we’re here now,” I said, not wanting to argue with Jenny, too. I checked my watch. “It’s a few minutes after seven o’clock. Let’s go inside, pay our respects, and skedaddle out to get a quick dinner.”
I grabbed Jenny’s hand and propelled her toward the funeral parlor’s main entrance.
The sign inside the front door announced that the Will Finnegan wake was in Slumber Room A.
I headed in the direction of the guest book, resting on a pedestal near the slumber room entrance. “No one’s signed the guest book yet,” I said as I picked up the pen and wrote “Mrs. James Andrews” in my best Catholic school cursive. “And there’s no place to leave sympathy cards and notes.” I fingered the note Phyllis had instructed me to give to the family. “I was hoping to just drop this off, and not get into a big conversation.”
Truth to tell, I was getting more and more uncomfortable. Why did I feel compelled to come, anyway? I could have just looked up the Finnegan family’s home address and sent a note. Or, even better, signed the funeral home’s online guest book. Assuming that there was one.
In the background, I could hear organ music playing. It creeped me out.
I snuck a quick peek inside Slumber Room A. Yup, the guest of honor was in the prime spot, resting in an open casket.
But there was nobody else in the room. No grieving family. Nobody at all.
“Are you sure you have the time right?” Jenny whispered in my ear.
“Of course I’m sure,” I whispered back. “The obituary said seven o’clock. But I certainly didn’t expect we’d be the first ones here. Where’s the family?”
The sounds of the organ grew fainter, and I heard low voices coming from the next room.
“They must be in there,” I said to Jenny. “Composing themselves. I’m sure this will be a real ordeal for them.”
The organ music started up again. Louder.
“I’m going up to the casket now and say a little prayer for Will,” I said. “We’ll wait for a few minutes and see if anyone else comes in. If not, we can give the sympathy note from Phyllis and Bill to someone in the funeral home office and get the heck out of here.”
Jenny nodded. “Good plan.”
I forced myself toward the casket, knelt down, and closed my eyes.
“Good bye, Will,” I said. “Jim and I will miss you. God bless.”
I opened my eyes and looked at Will’s handsome face, now waxy in death, despite the best efforts of the mortician.
As I started to get up, I caught the glint of something shiny on Will’s chest. At first, I thought it was a strange-shaped medallion. I wasn’t wearing my bifocals, so I had to squint to get a better look.
And I immediately wished I hadn’t. It wasn’t a medallion. There was a scissors in Will’s chest.
I fought back the scream that was bubbling up in my throat.
No way. I had to be mistaken.
I looked again. I wasn’t.
A hundred thoughts jumbled through my brain:
Maybe it’s some sort of obscure burial ritual that you don’t know about.
Maybe it’s a joke. Yes, that could be it. Somebody’s idea of a sick joke.
Maybe somebody wanted to be sure Will was really dead. Can a man be murdered after he’s already dead?
Oh, God, Carol, you are really losing it now!
No matter what, I didn’t want to be around when the family discovered the scissors. Jenny and I had to get out of here. Right now.
Chapter 14
I’m retired. I was tired yesterday, and I’m even more tired today.
I scrambled back to my chair and grabbed my daughter’s hand. “Come on. We’re leaving.”
“What? I thought we were going to wait for the family.”
“Change of plan,” I said. “Grab your purse and let’s get out of here. I’ll explain when we get outside.”
As we turned to make our escape from Slumber Room A, I saw a handful of people heading out the door of the funeral home. I shrank back. No way did I want to get into any conversation with anyone.
Especially since one of them could have left the shiny souvenir in Will’s chest.
There was a crying woman, dressed in black, in the middle of the group. She seemed to have trouble walking, and two young men were helping her.
Please, God, don’t let it be the widow.
I blinked, then looked again. I knew that woman. I recognized her immediately. Only one woman had spiky hair like that.
It was my hairstylist, Deanna.
I flattened myself against the wall, pulling Jenny with me. “We can’t leave now,” I hissed.
“What? Mom, you’re not making any sense.”
“You’re going to have to trust me,” I said. “We have to find some place quiet for a few minutes. I have to think.”
Up the hallway on the right blinked the most welcome sign I’d ever seen. Restrooms.
Believe me, I never needed a restroom more than I did at that exact moment. And like most women of a certain age, I need restrooms frequently.
“Come on. I need to use the women’s room.”
“Oh,” Jenny said, following my lead. “Well, why didn’t you just say that instead of being so mysterious. Honestly, Mom. You are the limit.”
Fortunately, the women’s room at Mallory and Mallory could accommodate more than one patron at a time. And there was even a loveseat and wingchair in a separate lounge area. A box of tissues was discreetly placed on a nearby lamp table.
I scanned the lounge to be sure we were alone. Then, all the emotion I’d been holding in for the last several minutes rose to the surface, and I began to cry.
Jenny, of course, completely misinterpreted the reason for my unexpected outburst.
“Mom, I’m so sorry you’re this upset. I didn’t realize you felt so close to Will Finnegan.”
“No, Jenny, that’s not why I’m crying.” In a few short sentences, I filled her in on what I’d seen in Will’s casket, ending with, “and that’s why I wanted to get out of here. I don’t know if it’s a crime, but I didn’t want us to be involved. And then, just as we were leaving, I saw my hairstylist, Deanna, right ahead us in that group of people. I didn’t want her to see me. I can’t explain it, but I instinctively ducked her.”
Jenny reacted as the wife of a Fairport detective, and whipped out her smartphone to call the police.
“No, Jenny. Don’t do that. Not yet, anyway,” I said, grabbing her hand.
“But, Mom, this has to be reported.”
“You’re right, Jenny. But I’m tired of being linked with every suspicious death in Fairport. Let someone from the funeral home call the authorities. Or a family member. Anybody but us.”
The next thing we heard was a piercing scream. Followed by running feet outside the women’s room door.
> “Now what, Mom?” Jenny asked. “We should have left when we had the chance. You could have explained everything to me in the car.”
“There’s no reason why we can’t just walk out the door,” I said. “Nobody knows who we are. Or that we’ve already been inside Slumber Room A.”
“You must be delusional, Mom,” Jenny said. “There’s no way we can just melt away unseen.”
I could have been angry at Jenny’s choice of words. Delusional, me? Hopeful, yes, But not delusional.
Until I opened the door of the women’s room. And came face to face with my least favorite Fairport police detective, Paul Wheeler. His usual partner, my daughter’s husband and my favorite son-in-law, Mark Anderson, wasn’t with him.
“You again!” Paul snarled at me. “Why am I not surprised to see you here? Every time a dead body shows up in town these days, you always seem to be there, too.”
He looked behind me at my daughter and his voice softened. “Hello, Jenny.”
“Well, Paul,” I countered in the most reasonable tone I could muster up on such short notice, “we are in a funeral home, after all. It’s the logical place to find a dead body.”
Jenny leapt into the conversation before my mouth got me into more trouble. “Will Finnegan did landscaping work for Mom and Dad, Paul. So when we found out that he had passed away, naturally we came to pay our respects.”
“Naturally,” Paul said with a hint of sarcasm.
“Did you know Will, too, Paul?” I asked. “Or is something wrong?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out,” Paul said. “We got a call from one of the funeral home staff about some weird irregularity at the Finnegan viewing. The person who called wasn’t making any sense. I was doing a ride-along in the neighborhood with one of the students from our Community Police Academy, so I got the assignment.”
I realized it was a lucky break that Paul was here instead of Mark. I was used to handling hostility—Paul’s immediate reaction whenever he saw me. And he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier, that was for sure.
Funerals Can Be Murder (A Baby Boomer Mystery Book 5) Page 7
